A Month's Rest
by kankakodoku
Summary: A return to the home where he lived so long in ignorance. So much has changed since that time...how can Luke bear to be in the only place that has somehow stayed the same? [spoilers through the first 'final' battle]


Being back at the Fabre manor was, for lack of a more eloquent way of putting it, really freaking weird.

Sure, Luke'd been back here at least once during the course of their adventures; but that had been more of a pit stop, and he hadn't been able to brood too much on what had transpired since he'd last been home before he'd been whisked away again in their struggle to preserve Auldrant.

But it was a little different now.

Van had been defeated, everyone had parted ways—returned to their old lives that they'd dropped when they'd been caught up in the storm threatening to sweep the world. Tear was back in Yulia City, Anise to Daath. Jade was off…well, probably back at his post under Peony's command, though God only knew what he might be doing or who he might be tormenting at any given moment.

Natalia'd been dropped off along with Luke, but he hadn't seen her much of late, since she'd quickly been reabsorbed more than ever before with sorting through the problems that a kingdom the size of Kimlasca faced on a day to day basis; not to mention, she still had her relationship with her father to rebuild. The most interaction with her he'd had in the past week and a half since they'd returned home was when he'd seen her bustling past the manor on her way to some official function—likely another task requiring an emissary of peace, that being the role she had been playing most often as a result of the recent happenings.

That had been the day he'd left the manor for the first time since his return, and as such he had happened to be by the entrance at the time, looking out over the city when she passed by. He caught a glimpse of blond hair and made eye contact…she waved…and that was all there was time for before she was swept off towards her destination along with her token entourage of guards. There wasn't a real need for them, though; not while she remained in the city at least. Natalia's protectors lined every street in Baticul, lived in its bakeries, its fisheries, its smithies. Natalia loved her country, and her country loved her back. It was just that simple.

For her, anyway…

Luke hadn't done much at all, in comparison. The night of his return, his mother and father (Asch's mother and father, wasn't it?) had greeted him, but it was late in the evening and so he was soon able to excuse himself to bed. It'd been a long journey after all. Not bothering to bathe or change, he'd thrown his overjacket over a bedpost and collapsed down onto the mattress, breathing in the scent of his room.

Asch's room, really.

Luke probably would have immediately continued upon that train of thought if he hadn't cracked his eyes open at that time; he had the really creepy sensation that he was being watched.

Van stared down at him.

Well, sort of. On the wall opposite his bed hung a lifelike rendition on canvas that had been there for as long as Luke's memory could recall. Van's expression…Luke had always regarded it as stern, but kind; now he thought that he saw traces of darker and more sinister intentions lurking in the subtle curve of line formed by his old instructor's lips.

…or maybe it was just the lighting, it was rather dark.

Regardless, it was really kind of creepy to have the now deceased God-General leering down at him while he slept. Or tried to sleep, as it were.

Luke had pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, crawling up beside it searching for a way to take it down. He expected it to be no less a valiant struggle than the one he'd had with the actual Van, but it was surprisingly light for such a large piece, and two minutes later he had the portrait down and off its hooks and propped up against the wide shelf that ran around the edges of his room. Sitting on the bed again, he contemplated throwing a blanket over it before standing up as a better thought struck him.

Another two minutes later, and the painting had been propped up against the wall of the hallway outside his room and he was back inside and stretching out on his bed once more (by the time morning came, the picture would be gone—what thoughts must have passed through the mind of whatever household servant had come across it, or what its eventual fate was, Luke could never guess).

Tilting his head back, he could see the fonbelt glimmering faintly in the sky. How long had it been since that day he'd stood there by his window, looking up to the sky at yet another thing he hadn't understood?

The world had changed. _Luke_ had changed.

But he was tired, and without the looming portrait of Van to bother him, sleep washed over him sooner than he had thought it would.

--

Looking back, it was probably the only good night's sleep he would be able to manage. Two and a half weeks, now. Two and a half weeks composed primarily of restless turning in bed, interspersed by brief walks around the manor. Once he'd gone outside the walls and into the city when the cabin fever had reached its peak; that had been a bad idea. Whispers followed him at every turn until he returned to the palace's upper levels, and even then the nobles of the court looked at him strangely, on the rare occasions he strayed anywhere outside the manor. Their party's flight from Baticul had become well-publicized, and for a time they had been wanted criminals. Natalia's face was already well-known, as the Princess, but he, Luke, hadn't been seen outside his manor in the seven years since his kidnapping. For having held the status of future king, he'd managed to keep a low profile—or rather, he'd been made to keep one, what with the restrictions on leaving the manor. That was no longer the case, apparently, for the general population of Baticul now knew what he looked like. As for the court—well, Natalia did not enjoy as great of popularity there as with the populace (from his limited understanding), likely because of their greater attachment to bloodline and breeding. It made them who they were, and defined the reason for occupying the place that they held…as such, he had the feeling that they really didn't know what to make of him. The bloodline was there, surely; he was identical to Asch in all things genetic. At the same time, he hadn't been exactly been 'born' nobility.

In any case, the stares were a bit of a turnoff, so he soon reduced the scope of his meanderings to the inside of the admittedly sizeable grounds his father possessed. He could have slipped out under cover of darkness, no doubt; reducing the chance of recognition. Word of Luke's departure would no doubt quickly reach Madam Fabre, however, and Luke knew that she worried for him when he left. This confused him, slightly…he wasn't the real Luke, after all, so why the concern? Maybe to her, the seven years of memories did…no, his mother—Asch's mother--was nothing if not sweet, a complete antithesis to the cold and hard aura emitted by the lord of the estate. A short conversation instigated by his late return one night confirmed that she was indeed concerned for him, and he felt warm inside as he left her chambers where she had waited up for the sake of hearing whether or not he had returned safely yet. After that, he completely curtailed his walking to within the confines of the manor, not wanting to trouble her. She'd already lost one son to the outside, and even as a stand-in for him, Luke didn't want to disappoint her more than he surely already had upon the realization of how long they had unknowingly harbored a replica imitation of their real son, thinking him their own…

…but as it was currently, he wasn't really sure what to do. Lying about and participating in nothing of consequence upset his father, but going out and doing something worried his mother. And the mere fact of his existence was keeping their true son, the one who really deserved this home, from coming back to them. He felt awkward and out of place. And yet…if Asch were to come back…where would he go? All his life he'd lived here, and despite his journeys to the outside he still lacked the knowledge necessary to strike out on his own. Or the initiative, really. Maybe it would have been different if he'd had someone to talk to, but that was an impossibility in this place. Now it was, anyway. In the past he had Guy to listen to him, and he was always a good source of feedback even from the time Luke had been too stupid to realize its worth. As for now, well…Guy was gone, off in Malkuth where he had really belonged all along. Ironic that their roles had been so reversed; Guy was really a member of nobility, whereas Luke was…well, a replacement for a real one. It didn't matter to Guy, really; he wasn't the type who would make it matter and Luke knew it. But the fact remained that through their journey, Guy had found his place….and Luke had lost his. He missed Guy terribly, even though he knew it was selfish to wish him back here in the manor when his rightful inheritance had been restored to him at long last. It was like some sort of magical fairy tale happening for Guy, and Luke knew that if anyone deserved it, Guy most certainly did.

But hell if he wouldn't have given all those stupid glass rocks in the sky to have Guy back with him right now, even if for a day.

He'd _promised_ he'd visit, and if he couldn't manage that at the very first, then at least he would write--and yet…so far there'd been nothing.

He was probably busy. Yeah. Better things to be doing than visiting that stupid dim-witted replica living half-way across the world. Guy had a life to get back in order, after all. Some people had those to attend to. Lives. Normal ways of doing things they could return to, after all the heroism and world-saving was over and done.

Yet Luke found himself wondering if it might not be different for him—he was fundamentally different from nearly the entirely population of Auldrant, so why not in this matter too…? What if there was no life to go back to? What if…as if he didn't already know it to be the truth. His entire existence was founded on the fact that someone had needed him to play a role—and even though he'd rebelled against that in the end, once he'd known, that now left him wondering as if to there really was any meaning to his life at all.  
_  
Why am I still here?_

Does my existence really matter at all, anymore…?

…did it ever…?  


A soft, slightly chill breeze that spoke of night embraced him where he sat looking out from the manor at the thriving city stretched out below him, angles and curvatures increasingly bathed in the soft hues indicative of the oncoming dusk…and surrounded by a population of millions Luke suddenly felt remarkably alone. 


End file.
